


mutual violence

by hunted



Series: Original Works [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adult Characters (Aged 21 or Older), BDSM, Bears, Bondage, Breathplay, Breeding, Choking, Cock Rings, Consensual Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Play, Couch Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominant Trans Man, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Fluff, Gay Sex, Gay Trans Man, Handcuffs, Impregnation, Impregnation Kink, Leather Culture, Leather Kink, M/M, Masculine Gay Man, Masculine Trans Man, Masochism, Mild Rape Roleplay, Name-Calling, Not Beta Read, Older Characters, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Photographs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Roleplay, Riding, Romance, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scents & Smells, Slut Shaming, Smoking, Smut, Switching, Top Trans Man, Trans Male Character, Vers Trans Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunted/pseuds/hunted
Summary: “You like that?” His lover crooned the words, breath warming David’s cheek, “You fuckinglikethat, slut?”...A trans man getting fucked by his boyfriend. All kinks are tagged. No feminising language is used. Author is FTM....Do not re-upload this work elsewhere. I do not give permission for my writing to be copied.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Original Works [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480958
Comments: 30
Kudos: 281





	1. boiling point

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired mainly by [this porn video](https://www.thumbzilla.com/video/ph5c8442540d84f/big-daddy-bear-impregnates-ftm-trans-man-pussy-creampie) and [this one too](https://www.thumbzilla.com/video/ph5a767818e45e8/daddy-bear-fucks-ftm-boy-hard-in-both-holes). Links are obviously NSFW. Please note that breath play, AKA choking, is extremely dangerous. Seasoned practicers of BDSM will advise that you avoid breath play altogether, as it endangers participants' lives.

David’s neck ached from the angle he was laying at, his head crushed against the arm of the couch, body straining. His knees blanketed his face, legs parted and raised upwards, the heels of his feet digging into his boyfriend’s shoulders. His hands were curled loosely against his chest, face pinched with pleasure and mild discomfort as the fucking increased in force.

That was fine. This was how he preferred it.

“You like that?” His lover crooned the words, breath warming David’s cheek, “You fucking _like_ that, slut?”

David panted, eyebrows drawn together in a desperate frown, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, daddy,” he groaned, “Oh, yeah,”

David hadn’t really done this since his youth. Heaps of gay guys loved twinky, slender, doe-eyed trans boys, but that fetish had died down around his thirtieth birthday. He was a hairy, tattooed, bearded, paunchy bear, who just happened to love being fucked in his front hole. Most Grindr hook-ups, they didn’t really comprehend that. They preferred he strap on a silicone cock and go to town on their sweet juicy asses, which was fine, but sometimes David just really needed a thorough dicking.

This latest man was a fucking godsend in that respect.

His name was Mark, and he had a thick white beard, heavy brown eyes, and strong hands. He held David down like it was effortless. They tussled, wrestling for dominance, bodies slick with sweat and exhausted from a cute imitation of violence, delightfully bruised. David would give in. He always did.

This evening, Mark had forced him down onto his back, torn off his trunks, and just slid inside. David had whined and moaned, making a show of struggling while simultaneously lifting his hips to deepen the penetration. The sex had been going on for nearly an hour, David’s lashes dipping low over his eyes, lips numb from kissing, body aching from Mark’s relentless thrusting. He was beyond aroused. He was senseless with it. Dizzy. More wet than he had ever been, obscene sounds piercing the air, Mark’s bare cock leaking thick white fluid inside him. The scars on his stomach were testament to the safety of this encounter, where pregnancy was concerned; he’d taken care of that issue years ago.

But shit, the idea turned him on beyond belief.

It turned them both on.

“You like this,” his boyfriend growled, “You like my seed inside you.”

David whimpered, not answering. Mark drew his hand back swiftly and brought it down in a smooth arc, his palm connecting with David’s cheek. The _crack_ of impact pierced the room, David’s face tingling and hot, his chest rising and falling with gasps.

“Say you love it.”

“I love it,” David breathed, “I love your seed inside me.”

“Say sorry for hesitating.”

“Sorry,” he obediently whispered, “Sorry…”

A long, satisfied grunt punched out of Mark’s chest, his hips hammering against David’s pelvis, skin slapping loudly. The lamp on the couch’s side table rocked in place, ornaments shaken by the pace of Mark’s movements. David felt like he was being reborn. He hadn’t been this turned on since the last time they fucked. When he jerked off, he always thought of their encounters. The short messages exchanged, the knowing words, his face pressed into pillows, his false pleas for mercy utterly ignored.

Mark straightened up, not even pausing in his brutal rhythm. His hands grabbed at David’s neck, settling flush against his skin, thumbs denting the underside of David’s jaw. He was forced to tilt his chin upward, gasping for breath, stars flickering in his eyes. Mark fucked him harder. He could feel that girthy cock filling him up so perfectly, sliding in and out, everything amplified by the dizziness of oxygen deprivation.

David was gonna come.

There was just one more thing he needed.

“Too much,” he gasped, “Please stop, it's too much,"

"Only way I'm gonna stop is when I come," Mark growled, "bitch."

"Please, stop daddy, please,"

"Shut up. I'm gonna fill you with my seed."

"Please come then, please, please, please,"

Mark knew what that meant. He knew what David needed. Any hesitation that was slowing his previous movements immediately disappeared, brutality escalating. The lamp tipped over, banging against the wall. An ashtray clattered against the floor, contents spilling out across the floorboards. The couch creaked dangerously enough it sounded like it was liable to collapse.

“Please,” David begged, eyelids fluttering, the pad of David’s thumb pressing cruelly down against his most sensitive body part, “Please, inside me, please come…!”

He tumbled off the edge, shuddering himself into an open-mouthed orgasm that quivered through his entire body and overtook every single atom of his being. Above him, Mark yelled as he neared his own end, hips stuttering to a standstill, pumping his seed inside David’s body. Like a boar in a rut. Just the way David liked it.

They fell limp against each other, gasping for air, hips thrusting limply as aftershocks pounded through their bodies. Mark held onto him for a long time, cuddling him close, the darkness of their kinks receding to make way for a truly loving relationship. David knew the shit he liked was fucked up. He was just glad Mark understood it. Liked the same things.

He loved being fucked.

And he loved Mark.

“You okay?”

The question was murmured against his jaw, Mark’s beard tickling his skin. David smiled.

“Yeah. I’m good.”


	2. simmer

One of the things Mark loved most about David was his scent.

That musk of masculinity, that manly odour, that sexy stench that clung to male skin in ways that could never really be scrubbed off. He loved the sweat patches on threadbare clothes, the taste of him through sodden fabric when Mark mouthed at his groin, the beads of salty moisture that would gather on his brow when they tended to the yard together, working beneath the hot sun.

They were living together now, basically, though it was a largely unspoken arrangement. David still had his apartment. The day he sold it and properly moved in, with the paperwork and all, Mark would fucking consider them married. And he’d celebrate it. But, in the meantime, there was no reason to rush it. David was the sexiest man he’d ever fucked, and the most tender gentleman he’d ever developed feelings for.

Mark wasn’t a goddamn chaser, okay. He’d been with all kinds of men, most of them not transgender, and David’s medical history hadn’t been some kind of _fetish_ for him. But there was something different about David, something Mark had discovered over their months in tentative cohabitation. David had grown up idolising masculinity. He adored being a man as passionately as Mark _wanted_ him for it, and it had a lot to do with him being trans. David had a love affair with himself. He had a sense of pride that went beyond anything Mark had ever witnessed before, certainly one that Mark had struggled to find within himself for many years. David’s vantage point on life was unique. He’d fought for every second of this. He was living his heaven. The fact he wasn’t going to die an old woman freed him of the one horror which, once, had plagued him.

David wore his masculinity, and his age, proudly. He loved himself. And Mark _loved_ that.

He was meditating on this one afternoon, as they fucked. Mark’s wrists were secured with leather restraints, chains keeping him bound to the headboard, the expanse of his back flush against the bed as David rode him. The mattress on either side of his thighs was dented by the weight of David’s knees, his body rocked by his boyfriend’s movements. David was wearing a leather vest and cap, his hairy chest in full view, rugged fur continuing uninterrupted down to his groin, where they were joined. His belly turned Mark on so much. His big, strong body. His wet hole.

David took his time, enjoying himself, using Mark’s cock as he pleased, one hand braced on Mark’s chest as he slammed his ass up and down. In his other hand he held a cigarette, crinkled paper between his lips as he took long, luxurious drags.

“Mm, baby,” he moaned, “Feel so good inside me.”

Mark whined, enjoying the submissiveness for once. His cock might’ve been buried deep inside David’s body, but there was no mistaking who was in charge. A ring of plastic, so tiny and insignificant, was keeping him right on the edge. He wasn’t going to blow his load until David let him.

“Move faster,” he growled, trying to sound authoritative.

David slapped his cheek playfully. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Need to come…”

“You’ll come when I fucking say so.” David blew out a cloud of smoke, eyes sparkling with enjoyment. He added, almost as an afterthought; “Bitch.”

“I need to come,” Mark arched on the bed, hands clenched into fists, “Fucking let me come,”

David slapped him again. Mark felt like he was gonna pass out, he was so turned on. Heat boiled in his gut, his head swimming with sensation, heart hammering against the underside of his ribcage. He was on fire, his cock wrapped in a silky, torturous warmth. He felt like he should’ve come fucking _half an hour_ ago.

“You’re,” he laughed helplessly, “You’re gonna wreck me, shit,”

David rode him harder, sucking deep on his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing. His lips were wet with saliva, his cheeks flushed pink.

“You want me to let you come, baby?” David crooned the question patronisingly, palm connecting with Mark’s cheek again. “You wanna come?”

“You fucking asshole,” Mark replied, unable to keep the grin from his face.

“Answer me, bitch.”

“Yeah. _Yeah._ I wanna come. Need it.”

“Beg me.”

Mark glared at him. David, well versed in this dance by now, placed his hand against Mark’s sweat-damp throat, thumb pressing against tender flesh. A threat. A warning. Just enough to imitate force, to give Mark the satisfaction of feeling _just a little_ forced.

"Please..."

"Please what?"

“Please,” Mark whispered, “Please let me come.”

“Aw, poor daddy. Wanna come? Hmm? Wanna come inside me?”

“Fuck you. Let me-”

David’s grip on his throat tightened, Mark’s words cut off by a choked inhalation. Though David’s fingers immediately loosened, they left a white imprint in their wake, and Mark wanted to get on his knees and pray to _whoever_ for blessing him with a partner so unbearably in tune with what he wanted. What he _needed._

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“Good.”

“Please let me come inside you. Please.”


	3. softened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just emotionnnssss because I'm a fucking sucker. Also this trans man uses she/her pronouns to refer to the person he used to be, because he views that individual as a complete stranger (which is how I, and many other guys feel), so just be aware of that. I'm not misgendering him so much as I am separating him from his past. If you're cis, probably don't do that in your writing. This is a trans author-exclusive thing to do. I don't usually write that way, it just felt right for this character.  
> .  
> .  
> Don't bind with bandages fellas, you'll hurt yourself.  
> .  
> .  
> And yeah, this was kinda sudden, plot-wise. But eh, everything I post is written in one sitting (pretty much), so just roll with it.

It stopped just being about sex. David decided to take the leap, and allow Mark to see a part of him that none of his other lovers ever did.

The photographs were gritty and old, textured beneath the pads of David’s fingers. He hadn’t taken these out of their box for many, many years. There were very few ghosts of his past life and the painful years he’d spent transitioning, stuck in an awkward and painful place between female and male, but he’d made sure to keep a few. It was important to remember where he’d come from, as excruciating as it was.

What nobody told you about transitioning was that things stopped feeling special. You started to feel normal, to settle into your own skin, to relax in ways you’d never experienced before. David had grown up not knowing what _normal_ felt like. Every single waking moment had been strained with the effort of pretending, of performing a role. He had been moored somewhere very far from those around him, abstracted by an absolute inability to continue pretending to femaleness, stitched together by ideas around girlhood that he had grabbed desperately in an attempt to form some exquisite corpse that he could turn into a real person. Even before he’d known he was a man, he’d been sure he wanted to be a boy, and the charade of wanting anything else was the most excruciating kind of torture imaginable. When he’d first come out, smashing through all the rules he'd religiously learned to follow from birth, everything was new and dangerous. The thrill of gender euphoria overtook him, matched only by the despair with which he considered opting out of the battle altogether. The ups and downs of being newly out encompassed everything he did. What job he had. Whether his family would invite him home. Whether he kept his friends. Whether he got beaten up.

After years of transitioning, things had settled. Wounds had healed. He had started to feel normal, for the very first time. A male mind in a male body. Living as a man, as he always should’ve been. He sometimes forgot he was trans at all. That there ever had been anything different.

He had to make sure he never forgot the pain that had come first.

The first photograph, the one that he stared at before all the others, had him shivering at the surreality of having transitioned. He didn't recognise the girl in the photograph, but his heart ached for her, for the man she would become, for the hurt she would have to wade through before her manhood was accepted.

Because he couldn't help but see the individual in the picture as someone entirely different. And in his mind, yes, he had been a girl once. If anyone talked about him in the past tense using the words _she_ or _her_ he would plant his fist between their eyes, but he nestled something far more complex and soft within the depths of his heart, something precious and not for the eyes of any other human being. He wished he'd never had to live as a woman, but that was the truth of his burden. That person was dead now, and he had moved on. He mourned her, some days. When he remembered to.

The stranger in the photograph had a tight, pursed mouth, one eye squinted almost closed, face taut with a scowl. Dry and sore beneath harsh sunlight, mud caked on her clothes from a hard day of labour. Her hair was pulled plainly back, her ponytail long, unadorned, and simple. She wore a flannel shirt buttoned up to her neck, and a heavy cotton jumper on top of that, layers of clothing hiding the shape of her body. With heavy boots and blunt words she was almost a man, comfortable with the relentless struggle of being a farmer, delightfully free of gender in her day-to-day life, more familiar with the howling of winds and the desert of drought than she was with her own body. Still, as isolated as she had been, she managed to figure out that something was different. Beneath her clothes, her ribs were aching, skin reddened and pinched across her torso, bandages tugged tightly over what she wished to hide. Nobody had questioned her flat chest or her masculine mannerisms, because she had always been that way.

David smiled sadly, brushing his thumb over the gritty paper, thinking of her fondly. The word back then had been _transsexual,_ and he supposed that's why he was so different to the youths that, nowadays, had such a different idea of the language around transitioning. He had come from an older culture, where you _were_ a woman once, and _now_ you had changed into a man. He loved the young men with their safe binders, fresh faces, eager voices, and Youtube channels. He supposed he just didn't understand them, and that was fine. He knew where he had come from. He knew the life he had lived. He would fight for those boys; he would cheer them on as they advanced past the frontier where he had settled a long time ago.

He placed the photograph down. The next was a shot of a child, wide-eyed and innocent. A homemade dress, little boots, fragile hands, and pigtails. He'd had no sense of gender, back then. He'd believed he was a girl simply because he had been told that was the case. It was never even an option, back then, to change. Onward, he flipped through the photographs, snapshots of a life somehow survived, a person long-dead. The daughter his parents had mourned but abused, the child who had never fit in.

By the time Mark came into their room, David's eyes were watery, lashes clumped by tears, beads precariously prepared to spill down his cheeks.

"Hey, hey," Mark said, voice immediately filling with concern, "Hey, you okay?"

He sat down next to David, arm wrapping around his back, pulling him close. David smiled, leaning into him, eyes falling shut. He sniffed and rubbed at his face. He didn't mind crying, because he didn't do it often, and being able to shed tears had become a rare victory once Testosterone set in. But he'd never cried in front of his lover, and he supposed that's why this moment really cut to his core, shattered him so beautifully. It had been a while since anyone had really given a genuine fuck.

"Just looking at old photos," he explained in a raspy voice, handing the pile over to Mark, the gesture symbolic in ways he didn't dare explain, "from before."

Mark took them hesitantly, like he was holding a precious gem or a newborn infant, fingers settling around the paper like he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

"Do you... want me to look?"

David smiled at him, his smile wobbly and more genuine than he'd allowed himself to be in years.

"Yeah. I want you to... see my truth. Who I left behind. Because I..."

He took a long breath, throat tight, a lump of emotion hitching his words and hastening his breath. He'd prepared for this. He had to stay calm.

"...I really love you, Mark, and I- I want you to know who I am. Who I was. It's important..." He twisted his hands in his lap, feeling self-conscious now. "I know you've never made an issue about it, you've been great, and I don't want you to think otherwise. It's just that... I need you to _see_ it. Do you understand? I need you to... see the worst of it. The thing I'm most... The thing that's the most painful."

There was a long moment of silence. David's heart had begun to sprint to a frantic, panicked beat.

"If you don't want to, then that's fine, it doesn't have to be a big deal, I just-"

Mark moved suddenly towards him, their mouths meeting quickly, David's fears muffled and then silenced. The stress eased from his body, a sigh brushing against Mark's lips.

"It is a big deal," Mark murmured quietly, their noses brushing, "It's a big deal for you. And me."

He slid his hand over David's, and in that moment, they both knew what was going to happen. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but it would happen. They could feel the smooth touch of silver rings on their hands, see the faces of their friends, hear the applause as white petals were thrown above their heads. Really, it'd already happened. This was as intimate as it got. They'd fucked, they'd fought, they'd talked, and they'd lived together for long enough to give this moment significance it otherwise might've lacked.

David kissed the man he loved. He realised that he didn't fear those photographs anymore.

He felt safe.


End file.
